


Stay

by pierrot



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6561979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrot/pseuds/pierrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jun dreams of whispers running through a river under the dawn sun and they say, "Don't look up, or you might find yourself drowning."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> An AU fic where Jun is a chef who works nights and can't sleep, and Sho is mostly just lonely.
> 
> With that in mind, this fic contains some depictions of psychological/physical effects of sleep deprivation, so please be warned of that if that's something that might bother you.
> 
> I'm hoping I'm not leaving any important/necessary warnings out, but please tell me if I have.
> 
>  
> 
> [LJ.](http://pierrot.livejournal.com/2481.html)

**i.**  
  
Jun works the late night shift at a fairly upscale hotel restaurant downtown, taking care of room service requests and starting the breakfast prep before he clocks out around dawn. It’s not what he dreamed of when he left culinary school with grand visions of working as the respected head chef of his own small but elegant Italian restaurant. Apparently qualifications on a piece of paper mean nothing when you’re expected to prove yourself in the confines of a kitchen; to meet the demands of people who care about speed and precision and doing what you’re told more than any delusions of artistry. But it pays well enough to afford him a decent apartment in Tsukishima, on a quiet street where no one knows his name, so he supposes it will have to do for now.  
  
The journey home from work in those early hours of morning is like a dream. A strange quiet that can only exist in that time when the first light of dawn filters through, casting the tall Shiodome buildings in an eerie light. Hardly anyone passes him on his walk to the station, except after those nights drunk salarymen have stayed out drinking, the stale smell of liquor and smoke and vomit flooding his nostrils as they stumble by.  
  
By the time Jun reaches Tsukishima, the sun has usually risen entirely. A bright shock against his face as he climbs the stairs to the street. If he’s not feeling too exhausted, Jun takes the long way back to his apartment, winding up along the river to walk over the Tsukuda Kobashi bridge. He likes the view of the boats as he crosses, the cinnabar red of the bridge’s railings offering stark contrast against muted greys and vivid greens.  
  
He misjudges how tired he is one morning, muscles aching and feet heavy, and the slight hill up to the bridge suddenly seems too much to bear. There’s a low bench just ahead, closer to the road than the river and shaded by a cluster of small trees. He drags himself over to collapse onto it, relief flooding through his body at first contact.  
  
Jun’s fingers itch and he reaches into his pocket, runs his fingers over the edges of the paperboard box there, feels the lighter nestled just inside the flap. Pictures pulling it out and bringing a cigarette to his lips, that first quick inhale clouding his face, his mouth, his lungs with heavy, bitter smoke. He could do it, maybe. Hardly anyone to catch him out and he’s sure the old men on their boats won’t judge. Jun hates the smoking stations, hates feeling like sheep in a pen, all facing different directions and carefully avoiding eye contact. Avoids them as much as possible but then he’s left craving with little to do to satiate the need clawing at the pit of his throat.  
  
There are footsteps approaching and he keeps his head down, shifting his feet in closer to let them pass. The muffled thud of hard soles against the stone pavement in a pulsating rhythm before it slows and comes to an abrupt stop. Jun stares at his boots, fixating on the specks of mud that mar the brown leather, the scuff marks on the toes. One of his pant legs has ridden up above the laces. He wants to reach down and straighten it.  
  
Too long passes without any sound of footsteps starting again so Jun reluctantly looks up at the intruder.  
  
A man is standing there. Soft, curved lips and a sharp jaw, black hair combed and parted to the side. An attractive face that doesn’t match the drab, ill-fitting suit he wears.  
  
Jun cocks his head, a questioning gesture.  
  
“Sorry,” the man says. His voice is too bright in the morning quiet. “It’s just… I usually sit here.”  
  
Jun looks at him. His head is too foggy, mind slow from exhaustion, to understand if he wants him to say something in return. He shifts along the bench until he hits reaches edge, leaving the stranger plenty of space to sit if he chooses. He smiles and walks over, settles down next to Jun and places his bag on the smooth surface of the bench, a barrier between them.  
  
“This is my favourite spot,” he says. “People don’t really understand when I tell them that. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer to sit facing the river?’ they say. But I think it’s nicer here with the river on one side, the road on the other, and a shrine at your back. Sort of like a harmonious synergy.”  
  
Jun says nothing.  
  
“Are you religious?”  
  
“Not really.” His voice cracks. Jun can’t remember the last time he actually spoke but his throat feels thick.  
  
“Me neither. But I like the rituals. And sometimes, when I sit here, I like to think about the spirits that might be surrounding me at this very moment. I think they must be gentle spirits, out here on the river. They always seem to bring me luck.”  
  
Jun looks at him, eyebrows raised.  
  
“I’m sorry.” The man smiles awkwardly. “Here I am, disrupting your morning when you probably just wanted to be left alone. I don’t mean to be so chatty.” He reaches for his bag, lifts open the flap of the satchel and pulls out a tightly folded newspaper. “I was going to read this,” he says. “But I have another if you’d like?”  
  
Jun shakes his head. Looks back at the ground, away from the strange man’s softly earnest face. He waits for the rustling beside him to settle, counts the seconds off with a tap of his finger, and then leaves without saying a word.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
He’s not sure why he returns the next morning. Jun’s feet seem to move of their own accord, up the road towards the bridge, mind completely switched off before he realises where he is. The same man is there already, sitting on the bench with a newspaper spread across his lap. The fabric of his suit bunches a little above his shoulders, wrinkled where it pulls across taut arms. A sliver of exposed skin above the cuffs. Jun considers if he should just keep walking right past but then there’s a short wave and a friendly smile beaming from a rounded face, and he finds himself drawn to it.  
  
The man introduces himself. Sakurai Sho, age twenty-nine. A research analyst. Tells Jun to call him Sho, so Jun replies in turn, says his name is Jun. Formalities seem oddly unnecessary when you still feel trapped in a dream.  
  
Sho keeps the paper clutched in his hands as he talks. Loosens his grip so it’s flat against his lap and the pages crinkle softly in the breeze. He’s curious to know about Jun, why he comes by so early, what it is he does all night. Jun answers his questions with short sentences, tells him about his job, about the hotel and the staff and the train ride home. Doesn’t tell him about how nothing’s really felt real since he started working there, like he’s just an empty shell walking around the life of Matsumoto Jun. It’s not a suitable topic for almost-strangers.  
  
He thinks maybe Sho can see it anyway. He talks too much, to fill the empty spaces. Glosses over the details of his own work and instead launches into a story about a hotel he once stayed at on a business trip, a winding tale that somehow ends with him recounting a dinner of unexpectedly spicy food, his face distorting into exaggerated grimaces as he imitates his reactions. Jun finds a laugh escaping his lips at the sight of Sho’s ridiculous expressions; his eyes bulging and his jaw clenched tight over an impossibly taut neck. The sound surprises Jun and soon Sho is laughing too, soft and bright, his eyes crinkled up into crescent moons.  
  
It’s been a long time since Jun last laughed like that.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
After midnight on a Tuesday there’s no need for more than one person to work the kitchen. The quiet stillness is unsettling when there should be noises of oil sizzling, dishes clanging, orders being called. Bodies moving around cramped spaces in an organised rush, heat flooding through every corner, the smell of smoke and garlic and caramelising sauces.  
  
Jun gets restless waiting for orders. Cleans every surface, cloth scrubbing at the benchtops until the glint of shiny grey steel reflects brightly back at him, cold and pristine. It doesn’t make the time pass any faster and he’s left tormented by the clock hands that seem to have barely moved their position every time he looks. Spends the last five minutes of his shift just staring at the wall, mapping the cracks in the plaster, the faded paint and the dirty marks. It’s a relief when he can finally leave, feeling far more weary than he ought to be. Too aware of the sore absence of the adrenaline that comes with a busy service, the satisfaction of a job well done.  
  
Only when he’s walking home from the station, air crisp and sky bright with promise, does he begin to wake up a bit. Tiny slivers of warmth unfurl in his stomach at the sight of a familiar figure bent over a newspaper, the flush of round cheeks and the pout of full lips trembling slightly in the cold.  
  
There are deep bags under Sho’s eyes, dark shadows the only sign that he is exhausted. Jun wouldn’t be able to tell from the way Sho smiles unreserved, still maintaining good humour even when Jun barely grunts at him. It’s been over a week of this strange friendship, the short time they spend together on the same bench every day until they go their separate ways, never meeting anywhere else. Sho doesn’t discuss his work, never talks much about his personal life at all, sticking to more trivial topics. A documentary he watched or a restaurant he went to. Sometimes he just sits and reads one of his newspapers, commenting on the stories to Jun.  
  
Today it’s a discussion about ski slopes. Jun doesn’t have much to say, never had much time to take vacations when he spent eight years slaving away in kitchens, and skiing is a hobby too costly and troublesome for him to consider. He keeps his eyes turned towards the river, listens for the quiet lap of the current punctuating Sho’s words.  
  
“I smoke the same brand.”  
  
Jun looks down at his lap, at the cigarette packet he doesn’t remember pulling out from his pocket resting in his hands. He starts to stuff it back into his jacket but stops, hand stilling, and looks at Sho.  
  
“Did you want one?”  
  
“We can’t smoke here.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
Jun shoves the packet to the bottom of his pocket, keeping his hand there curled around the box. They can’t smoke where they are but they could go somewhere else. Stand together as they light their cigarettes, maybe face each other properly as they talk between puffs, smoke clouding the space between them.  
  
But they don’t.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
He meets a friend for drinks before work. Has to drag himself to the bar to make it there, still arriving later than their planned time, hair messier and clothes plainer than he would usually allow. Catches sight of his face in the reflection of a window and doesn’t recognise the dull eyes that look back.  
  
“You look terrible,” Aiba says almost as soon as he sees Jun, guiding him to a seat at the far end of the bar. Jun glares at him but it’s half-hearted, and the slap he delivers to Aiba’s shoulder for being rude lacks its usual punch.  
  
“Sorry. You just don’t really look like yourself.” Aiba frowns. “Are you sick?”  
  
Jun shakes his head. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”  
  
That’s understating it. Even exhausted he struggles to fall into real sleep, too sensitive to the light and noise that filters into his room. He increasingly finds himself jolting awake shortly after he finally does, sweat coating his neck and throat completely hoarse. Strange, inexplicable panic coursing through his body, making his heart race and his muscles tense, as he faintly recalls flashes of figures chasing him, hands tugging at his body and pulling him down into absolute darkness.  
  
It’s a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach before work but he orders one anyway. Needs to feel something coursing through his veins, lightening the thick sluggishness of his mind, even if it’s artificial. The alcohol is sticky in his mouth and sour on his tongue. Burns down his throat and sets his insides churning, each swallow almost too bitter to take. He feels sick.  
  
Aiba talks and Jun can’t really concentrate. Tries not to be too terrible a friend; nods and smiles at the right places, asks Aiba questions in the gaps so he can be the one doing most of the talking instead of Jun.  
  
“Think you might want to look for a new job? Move somewhere else? I know some people who were looking for new cooks before, I can ask around.”  
  
Aiba’s worked in the industry longer than Jun and he seems to have connections everywhere. One of the perks of being a restaurant’s bartender is that everyone wants to be friends with the guy who will make their drink at the end of a shift. Even if he wasn’t, Aiba’s just the kind of guy to make friends easily with everyone he meets. He’s known Jun since Jun was just starting out, still green and nervous with inexperience, and although Jun got fired from that first job, they’ve remained friends ever since. Aiba’s offered to help Jun get jobs before but Jun’s stubborn pride meant he’s always felt determined to go through the official processes, get hired on the basis of his own resume and skills.  
  
It’s probably time to let go of that. He can’t continue working like this much longer, he knows. Should really just quit even without the guarantee of another job waiting for him. He’s stuck it out for longer than he should have due to his sense of obligation but he’s been there long enough now for that not to be an issue anymore either. There’s only really one thing left that’s encouraging him to stay. Unacknowledged, at the back of his mind, but getting harder to ignore.  
  
“Maybe,” is the only thing he can say, and he can’t offer any explanation or elaboration either. Aiba looks at him, thoughtful but not prying, and he seems to accept it. Says he’ll ask around, just in case, and switches tack.  
  
“How about dating? Seeing anyone lately?”  
  
Jun is still thinking about Sho when Aiba asks and his name almost slips from his lips in response. Catches himself just in time and shakes his head.  
  
He is seeing Sho, in a sense. Sees him every day around the same time for twenty-five minutes of sitting and conversation. Jun’s learned that while Sho is sometimes easily distracted, he’s very particular about his schedule. Started setting an alarm on his phone so he leaves in time to make his train; thinks that Jun doesn’t notice the way his pocket vibrates before he says his goodbyes. It makes Jun smile into his hand when he’s sure Sho isn’t looking. Such an odd thing to do, but so fitting of the man he’s got to know over the past few weeks.  
  
It’s not that far removed from dating, he supposes. Just lacks the physical aspect. He gets the comfort of meeting Sho regularly, the subtle thrill of learning small new details about him, piecing together the parts of a complete person, but then without the satisfaction of ever getting to touch Sho. To know what he would feel like under Jun’s fingertips, how he would respond to Jun pressing against him, whether he would gasp or moan or press back just as hard.  
  
He’s not sure when these thoughts about Sho started but they come more frequently now. When he lies in his apartment trying to sleep. Images of pouty lips wrapped around him, dark hair mussed as he tugs the locks with his fingers. Yearning daydreams that are at least better than the nightmares.  
  
Jun drains the rest of his drink. Lights a cigarette but it just makes him feel light-headed so he puts it out. He makes his excuses to Aiba, promises to find the time to see him more frequently in future, and leaves the bar. There’s still half an hour before his shift starts but he wants to walk around a bit first. Try to clear his head before he’s sucked back into the cold monotony of the quiet kitchen confines.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
“Why do you wake up so early just to sit here?”  
  
Jun rarely asks questions, lets Sho direct the flow of their conversations until he has to leave for work. But it’s been nagging at him. Doesn’t understand why anyone would choose to wake up earlier than they have to. He’s never been a morning person and lately, with the nightmares keeping him up, it’s even harder for him to pull himself out of bed when his alarm rings, needing to hit snooze as many times as he can allow without running the risk of being late.  
  
Sho looks at him. There’s a small crumb stuck to the side of his face, just above his mouth. Jun thinks about reaching out to wipe it away, his thumb trailing down to brush the corner of his lips. The way Sho’s breath would hitch at the gesture, eyes widening slightly in surprise and bottom lip falling open.  
  
He does nothing.  
  
“I like the time by myself,” Sho says. The movement causes the crumb to fall and Jun’s left staring at unmarked skin. “I always woke up early to read through the papers anyway but it’s nicer to do it out here. I don’t get to spend much time outside in the daylight when I’m cooped up in an office all the time. It gets too much.”  
  
Jun supposes that makes them kind of the same. Except that he misses the time in the daylight because he’s cooped up in his apartment, thick curtains covering the windows to create a semblance of night so he can attempt sleep.  
  
“You’re not getting to spend this time by yourself if I’m here.”  
  
Sho smiles. “It’s okay. It’s nice being here with you.”  
  
  
\----  
  
  
A hand is tapping his shoulder. He doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t want to spend another restless sleep chasing imaginary touches, searching for something that isn’t there.  
  
It presses firmer. Jun feels his body shake, his head rolling slightly, and there’s the distant sound of someone calling his name in his ears. The hand moves across his shoulders, slides up the nape of his neck to cup his jaw, lift his chin up. The soft press of a thumb resting against his cheek. It feels so warm, so real, that Jun finds himself opening his eyes and he looks up.  
  
Sho’s face is in front of him. His eyes are wide, brow creased in concern as he looks at Jun. “You okay?” he asks. Jun can’t seem to make his mouth form the words to respond, just stares at Sho blankly.  
  
“You should go home. Get something to eat and then sleep.” Sho’s hand slips away from his face and Jun mourns the loss. There’s not much chance to dwell on it as Sho grabs his wrists, resting atop his thighs, and pulls him up. “Come on.”  
  
He’s wearing his running clothes. Long shorts and a lightweight jacket zipped up to his chin to protect against the morning chill. That means it must be Sunday. Sho doesn’t have to work on Sundays but he comes out just as early anyway, stops by to talk to Jun as he stretches before starting his run.  
  
Sundays are Jun’s favourite day.  
  
Sho sticks close to him as they walk, shoulders almost touching as he leads Jun to the nearest convenience store. Keeps glancing at Jun every few steps. He wants to tell Sho that he doesn’t have to worry, he’s fine to get home by himself. But then Sho will leave and Jun won’t see him again until tomorrow, so he says nothing. Waits while Sho moves around the store briskly, buying bottled water and juice and onigiri that he gives to Jun.  
  
“Where do you live?” he asks when they’re outside again. Jun mumbles an address and then they’re walking through the quiet streets to his apartment. Sho stands aside as Jun opens the door to his building. Doesn’t say any goodbyes, just follows him up as if it’s an entirely natural act, like they’re the kind of friends who visit each other’s homes regularly.  
  
Jun isn’t sure what to say to Sho once they’re inside and it seems Sho is similarly uncertain. Stands near the entrance as Jun puts the bag from the convenience store on the kitchen counter and fidgets with the edge of his jacket. He ends up unzipping it, pushing the collar down his neck to reveal smooth, tanned skin beneath the loose tank he wears. Jun stares at the dip at the base of his neck, so strange to see after weeks of being covered by stiff collars, and suddenly his next move seems inevitable. Thinks it has been ever since Sho grabbed hold of his wrists.  
  
Kissing Sho makes him feel more clear-headed than he has been in months. Like he’s now wide awake and it’s just become so painfully obvious how much he wants this. To touch Sho with more than just accidental brushes, to feel those soft lips he always finds himself staring at on his. He pulls back to look at Sho. Needs to know that this is mutual, that he hasn’t just ruined the one thing he looks forward to every day. Sho’s eyes are wide and Jun stills, breath heavy between them, but then it’s Sho who reaches forward to fit their mouths together, his movements just as desperate and needy as Jun’s had been.  
  
Jun’s hands drop from Sho’s shoulders to grab his hips, pulling him along as he walks them over to other side of the room where his futon is still laid out. Doesn’t let go of Sho’s mouth as he pushes him down and starts tugging at the material of his jacket. Feels Sho’s hands reach to pull at his shirt, drag fingers over skin underneath.  
  
Sho continues to let Jun dictate their movements, but once his shirt has been pulled over his head, Jun finds himself suddenly on his back. Looks up at Sho’s eyes staring intensely at him, his lips glistening wet with spit in the room’s soft light. His hands grip Jun’s wrists, pulls them above his head, and normally Jun would push back at that, but he’s tired, and the weight pressing him into the floor feels comforting. Leans his head back and licks his lips slowly, feeling satisfaction when Sho surges back down to claim his mouth.  
  
Sho lets go of him to grapple with the zip of Jun’s pants, push the obstructing material away to pull out his cock, and Jun takes the opportunity grab ahold of Sho’s hips. Digs his fingers in deeper when he feels Sho’s cock slide against his, Sho working them both over in his hand.  
  
There’s nothing else he can find it in himself to do but rut desperately against Sho, body aching with every thrust. He needs to feel Sho shudder and collapse against him, needs to hear him cry out, Jun’s name harsh on his lips. It feels like far too long before it finally happens and Jun gets lost inside a dark, endless haze of heavy panting and hot friction until the sudden stilling of Sho’s body above his snaps him back to earth, triggering his own release.  
  
He can’t hold his eyes open any longer after that and he finds himself slipping into darkness, sticky and warm with the weight of Sho covering him.  
  
The weight is gone when he wakes up. Sho is nowhere to be found and the stillness of the room, thick with the scent of come and sweat, is suffocating. Jun looks down at the mess still caked on his stomach, trying to check for evidence of Sho’s presence, but he can’t tell. The muddled confusion that presses at his skull makes him dizzy and he stumbles to the bathroom to run the hottest shower possible. Scrubs at his skin under the harsh spray until it’s red and clean and raw.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
Jun wonders if he just dreamed the whole encounter.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
Sho doesn’t seem to act any different the next day. Doesn’t mention what happened the morning before, doesn’t offer any apologies for leaving without a word. Jun’s throat feels choked when he tries to respond to Sho’s banal comments about the weather but he plays along with the charade.  
  
As the week passes, he accepts that it’s not going to come up in conversation and they’re just going slip back into the same routine as ever. More stilted discussions and occasional glances with no touching, even briefer now that Jun feels himself closing off to Sho, growing colder. But then Sunday comes again and Sho doesn’t arrive in his usual running outfit. He’s dressed casually in a simple black coat and jeans, his hair slightly mussed. A new look Jun hasn’t seen before. He frowns at the sight.  
  
“Not running today?”  
  
Sho shakes his head, stays standing before Jun with his hands in his pockets. “I thought—” he stops, bites his lip. “I thought maybe we could have breakfast together instead. If you’re not too tired.”  
  
Jun looks at him. “It’s too early to go anywhere.”  
  
“We don’t have to go out somewhere. We can cook something at my apartment. Or yours, if you prefer.”  
  
A beat. “I need to shower.”  
  
“I can wait.”  
  
They find themselves inside Jun’s apartment again. Jun hands Sho a bowl and a carton of eggs with instructions to crack two and whisk them slightly while he showers. Based on Sho’s look of concern he decides to forgo asking him to dice any vegetables, just pulls a bag of rice out from the pantry and hopes that washing rice won’t pose too much of a challenge. He’s proven to have made the right choice when he returns to find Sho bent close to the bowl, attempting to remove bits of egg shell. Leans over Sho’s back to take the bowl from his hands, causing Sho to flush pink and stutter as he moves out of Jun’s way.  
  
He stays out of the kitchen from then on, uncharacteristically silent as Jun cooks. Says a quiet thank you when Jun hands him his plate and waits for Jun to sit down before he starts eating. Doesn’t speak further as he ladles generous spoonfuls into his mouth but his expression is happy, the corners of his mouth turning up after every bite. Jun finds that he isn’t really hungry so he just puts his spoon down on his plate and watches Sho. He thinks he might be smiling but he can’t really help himself. Not sure he particularly wants to, either.  
  
Sho notices him staring and stills. Wipes at his mouth self-consciously and shoots Jun a questioning look but Jun shakes his head and looks away. Stands up to clear their plates, warming a little at Sho’s earnest gratitude for the meal, his insistence to clean up in repayment. Tension thrums through his body as Sho moves close to him, letting his fingers brush over Jun’s skin as leans over to take the dishes in a way that sends little sparks of electricity straight to his veins. Jun stays too close to him while he washes up, and he can see the way his shoulders stiffen and his Adam’s apple moves slowly when he swallows, but Sho says nothing, just keeps his eyes locked on the sink as the tap runs hot water that forms soap bubbles under his hands.  
  
They end up on the futon, Jun arched over Sho, resting his weight on his forearms on the floor. He’s already breathing heavily and the warm slide of Sho’s tongue makes him feel hazy so he breaks away from kissing Sho. Puts distance between their faces to look at him, just stares into his eyes and doesn’t move. Sho reaches up to touch Jun’s face. Brushes hair away from his forehead and smooths cool fingers down his cheekbones.  
  
“Something wrong?”  
  
Jun swallows. “Sometimes, this doesn’t feel real,” he admits. “Like this is all a dream and you’re just a figment of my imagination.”  
  
Sho’s face softens and there’s a look in his eyes that Jun can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m real,” he says. He moves his hand down to find Jun’s, slides their palms together. The angle is awkward but Jun shifts slightly and he can feel Sho’s fingers curl around his. “This is real.” Sho’s grip tightens, warm and firm, and Jun believes.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
There’s a bench near the river, close to the edge of the road and shaded by a cluster of small trees. Jun passes it on his way to work, on a detour he never usually takes. Sits upon it under the cold moonlight and closes his eyes to better sense the feeling of the air against his skin, the way it differs from the crisp morning breeze.  
  
He pulls out a music player from his bag, unwraps the earphones twisted around it to put the buds in his ears, and presses play. The song that filters through the tinny speakers isn’t one he would normally choose to listen to. It came from a list Sho gave to him, names scribbled down in blank ink on a torn piece of paper, handed over with Sho’s insistence that he at least familiarise himself a little with some of Sho’s favourite artists. Jun doesn’t think most of them much suit his taste, but he still dutifully listened to all of the songs Sho wrote down, lying on his apartment floor with his eyes closed as the music filled the room.  
  
He doesn’t understand the lyrics of the song playing now but he looked up a translation online. Still didn’t understand all of the lyrics even then, but one line stuck to him. _I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death._ Plays the song over until he can pick the line out, rolls the foreign syllables over his tongue, around his mouth, until they feel familiar. He isn’t sure what he thinks about the words, whether or not they’re right, but it becomes something of a mantra to Jun, creeping into the back of his mind when he’s alone in quiet darkness. Sounds them out now as he looks over to the river, whispers at it as if it might answer all of his questions.  
  
If there are really spirits out here, like Sho said that first time they met, he thinks they might be laughing at him.  
  
The music stops. He looks down at the screen of his music player and it’s black. Attempts to turn it back on, then tries to force a reset when that doesn’t work, but nothing happens. It’s an old player. He had been surprised to see that it even still worked when he dug it out from the back of his closet, so he supposes it’s fair to assume it finally ran its course. Jun stares at the device for a moment and stands up, disconnecting the earphones to shove back into his bag.  
  
He walks until he finds a bin, and tosses the music player away. Travels the rest of the journey to work with no soundtrack to mask his thoughts.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**ii.**  
  
  
Sho has an alarm set for five twenty-five every morning, the shrill ring of his phone ripping him from his slumber to announce that it’s a start of a new day.  
  
A new day but always the same routine. A quick shower and even quicker breakfast, pulling on the clothes he laid out the previous night—a suit for workdays, running gear on Sundays—before he leaves his apartment. Picks up the morning newspapers, sometimes stops to buy a pack of cigarettes, and then makes his way to a bench down by the river.  
  
There’s a man that meets him there. The only significant change to Sho’s life in recent months. He greets Sho with the smell of stale oil and grease covered by the sharp fragrance of his cologne and a hint of smoke that Sho recognises from his own clothes. Strong features drawn into a frown leave a fierce impression that almost manages to disguise the weakness that lies beyond. The hollowed cheeks and dark circles, the slumped shoulders and trembling hands.  
  
Jun once said that he thought Sho might be a figment of his imagination. Sho thinks it’s Jun who often doesn’t seem real, like just a shadow of a person who could slip away at a moment’s notice. He often finds himself wanting to reach out and grab hold of Jun whenever his gaze turns particularly distant, firm him up under his fingers so he doesn’t disappear.  
  
There are glimpses of a different Jun underneath the coldness that seems to enshroud him. A Jun who can talk with passionate seriousness when the right subject arises, who breaks into abrupt, loud laughter when Sho manages to do something to particularly amuse him. A Jun who presses his fingers firmly into Sho’s skin when he kisses him, who lets a soft giggle bubble at the back of his throat when something tickles him, and who stares at Sho sometimes with such intense eyes that he feels like he never wants to look away from them.  
  
Sho’s become obsessed with cataloguing these moments.  
  
Jun doesn’t always meet Sho at the bench. Sho thinks Jun might not realise this, that sometimes he just goes straight home and Sho is left sitting and waiting, eyes running over the same sentence in his newspaper three times before he can make himself understand the words. But Jun always comes back, same as before, and Sho doesn’t mention it. Never mentions anything serious, keeps his tone light and cheerful as he greets Jun. Tries to see if he can make a rare smile appear on his face.  
  
There’s no smile to be found when he stands at the bench when Sho arrives that morning, a thick bandage wrapped around his left thumb.  
  
“What happened?” says Sho. He wonders if it would be too much for him to reach out and take hold of the hand, cradle the thumb lightly in his fingers. Press a reassuring touch to Jun’s wrist just to let him know that he’s there if Jun needs, always is.  
  
“Butchered it.” Jun’s voice is low and raspy and the scent of smoke clings stronger to him than usual. “Knife slipped. All stitched up now but the bosses weren’t too happy. Hard to find a replacement at that time of night.”  
  
“They fired you?”  
  
“No. But I quit. Going to find a new job with normal hours.”  
  
Sho nods slowly. “That’s good.” The words feel hollow on his tongue. “You should go home, get some rest. Probably could do with a few days sleep.”  
  
Jun looks at him. “You have to work.”  
  
Sho hears the unspoken question, recognises the look of want in Jun’s eyes. “Yes.” He pauses a moment and comes to a decision. “But I can go in late.” He can’t, really, isn’t afforded that kind of luxury, but that’s not important right now.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Sho doesn’t realise he’s the one leading until they end up in front of his building. Jun keeps beside him in silence as they make their way up the elevator, to the floor of Sho’s apartment. No need for words when they’re moving in harmony, bodies thrumming with knowing anticipation of what both of them need.  
  
They take their time.  
  
Lingering kisses as they undress each other, soft presses of fingertips sending flares of heat through exposed skin. Sho pushes Jun down gently onto the crumpled sheets when they reach the bed, keeps his hands flat against the breadth of Jun’s torso as he straddles him and fits their mouths together once more. He wants to touch all of Jun, feel the firm lines of his body beneath him, leave his mark on every inch.  
  
Sho slides his hands down Jun’s chest, runs his fingers over the ridges of muscle and bone. Reaches a hand back up to trace a nipple, circles the small nub with a single finger as his other hand skims across Jun’s abdomen, over the dip of his navel until it stops just shy of the waistband of Jun’s briefs.  
  
Jun sighs into his mouth, presses his grip tighter against the sides of Sho’s hips. Sho allows himself a few more seconds to enjoy the feel of Jun’s tongue against his, the warm slick of his mouth, before he breaks away, peppering light kisses over his face. He moves down, taking his time to explore Jun’s neck, latches onto the pulse point. Sucks lightly, enjoying the feeling of Jun shivering beneath him, his chin lifting higher to stretch tight the muscles of his neck.  
  
The hard press of Jun’s erection against the back of his thigh has Sho growing impatient. He strokes his hands down Jun’s sides, feeling the way his body tapers to a narrow waist, and hooks his fingers under the elastic of Jun’s briefs. Pushes the fabric down over Jun’s hips, freeing his cock.  
  
Sho immediately reaches out to take hold of it, wrapping his hand around the base. He starts slowly, moves his fingers over the head to spread the precome gathering there down Jun’s shaft. Keeps a firm grip as he pumps Jun’s cock with steady strokes and tries to memorise the feeling of Jun, heavy in his hand.  
  
Jun moans, a deep sound from the back of his throat, and he presses his fingers harder into Sho’s hips, a plea for him to speed up. Sho looks up from where he’s mouthing at the dip of Jun’s collarbones, makes sure to catch his eyes, lidded and heady as they look back at his. Moves down to latch his teeth to a pert nipple and presses his thumb lightly into the slit of Jun’s cock as he _sucks_ , hollowing his cheeks out fully just for show; a suggestion of other things.  
  
That’s enough for Jun. He flips them over, moves to settle himself over Sho, and presses down, thrusting his cock against him. Sho gasps, and Jun takes the opportunity to seal his lips with a forceful kiss, more demanding this time as he fucks his tongue into Sho’s mouth.  
  
Sho lets Jun take control, moving against Sho like a new life has consumed him, a brighter spark behind his eyes than Sho has seen in the whole time they’ve been acquainted. Feels the slide of cotton over his skin as Jun pulls his briefs off, hears the rummage of fingers into the drawer beside him and the crinkle of foil landing somewhere on the bed.  
  
Jun’s finger is cold when it presses against him and Sho tenses involuntarily. Tries to relax as Jun works into him slowly, stretching him open, his other hand gripping the back of Sho’s thigh and pushing his legs back. It’s rough where the bandage on his thumb meets Sho’s skin.  
  
There’s still the need to touch Jun, run his hands over broad shoulders, muscles rippling under his touch. Up the nape of his neck and into the thick locks of hair, tugging at them in a way that makes Jun hiss and dig his fingers into Sho’s thigh. Sho likes that he can make Jun react like this. Pulls again and Jun leans forward to sink his teeth into Sho’s bottom lip, a sudden, harsh pain that gets smoothed away by Jun’s tongue.  
  
When Jun finally enters him, all he can do is cling onto Jun’s shoulders. Holds him tightly, panting heavily as he rolls his hips to meet Jun, heat unfurling in his stomach at every thrust. Keeps his eyes wide open to stare at Jun looking down intensely at him. Every movement is drawn out and purposeful, as if they’re both trying to stay in this moment forever, afraid of what happens when they let go.  
  
It feels like a farewell.  
  
  
\----  
  
  
Sho isn’t particularly close to his colleagues, not even after years of working side-by-side with most of them, but celebrating the end of a difficult project with a night of drinking together is pretty much a mandatory tradition. He doesn’t usually mind; enjoys the chance to relax with a beer or six after so many stressful nights spent working long hours under a deadline. But he can’t seem to make himself get into a very celebratory mood. Finds a way to slip out early without attracting any undue attention and winds through the busy streets for home.  
  
It’s been warmer lately. Even with the sun down there’s no real chill in the air and Sho feels slight heat creep into his skin as he’s pulled along by the crowd of people surrounding him, moving in tandem like a slow wave headed towards the station. Bright lights flash from every building, illuminating the city in a vivid glare. He peels away from the crowd and slips into the muted shadows of a quieter alleyway where the air becomes crisper, less suffocating. There’s a soba restaurant not far away that he’s been to a few times when work doesn’t demand that he eat dinner at his desk. He’s suddenly hungry, feeling the beer he drank earlier settling into his stomach.  
  
A sign above one of the many bar entrances catches his attention from the corner of his eye. Simple, black letters that spell out a single word in English. _Moonchild_. It’s an unusual enough name that he recognises it; can remember the exact conversation about Tokyo bars that led to it being highly recommended to Sho.  
  
It was Jun’s favourite place.  
  
Sho aches at the memory. Still, even after almost two months of not seeing the other man. They never ended anything officially but they also made no effort to find a way to continue. Never even exchanged phone numbers. They may have known each other’s addresses, but Sho didn’t feel that he could show up at Jun’s apartment unannounced and it seemed that Jun felt the same way, like they couldn’t see each other if they didn’t meet at that spot by the river, Jun on his way home from his night of work and Sho just starting his day.  
  
Jun stopped being there in the mornings after that last time at Sho’s place, and it didn’t take long for Sho to stop going as well, unable to continue sitting there every morning alone.  
  
But now he's standing in front of Jun’s favourite bar. And it might be breaking some sort of unwritten rule between them, but with the chance right there, mere steps away, he suddenly needs to try. Desperate, unreasonable hope creeping through his body, propelling him towards the entrance before he can find a reason to turn back.  
  
He’s not sure if he’s surprised or not when he sees a familiar face shining under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. Familiar, but different to the face Sho remembered. He looks better, brighter, his face fuller and complexion clear, hair cut shorter and precisely styled, emphasising sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. He’s laughing at a man behind the counter with his mouth wide open and his eyes completely creased.  
  
He looks happy.  
  
It’s too much. Sho feels like an intruder, even more than he did that first day when he walked up to Jun where he sat alone on Sho’s favourite bench. The Jun of that day seems light years away from the Jun in front of him, and it seems impossible for Sho to suddenly barge his way into the world he’s in now. He turns to leave, before Jun can notice him, outside the bar for the darkness of the street. The slightly cooler air hits his face as he passes through the entrance and it feels like coming back down to earth.  
  
A hand grabs his wrist and stops him before he can continue out into the street, forces him to turn around.  
  
Jun is standing in front of him. He’s not smiling but his eyes are bright and focused intently on Sho. Looking into them feels exactly like Sho remembered.  
  
“Sho.”  
  
The same voice, speaking his name, an exact echo of Sho’s memories. He licks his lips nervously and doesn’t respond, but also doesn’t move away and doesn’t break eye contact, keeps locked in an unwavering stare with Jun. He wonders what his face looks like right now, what Jun is reading into his features. What he’s thinking about Sho and his presence here in front of him.  
  
Jun holds the silence for a little longer and then moves his hand, still clasping lightly at Sho’s wrist, down over his palm. A soft touch evoking thoughts of other things.  
  
“I’ve missed you,” he says, voice almost cracking at the soft pitch, and now Sho recognises that same look of want he’s seen so many times in Jun’s eyes. It makes him want to press into Jun’s skin and transmit his feelings through the touch, show him how much he wants him too. Wants to kiss the uncertainties away from his lips and still the slight trembling of his hands, clasp them firmly in his own.  
  
Jun smiles, finally, small and hesitant and beautiful as he looks at Sho.  
  
“Come inside with me for a while. Stay.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Sleep is the cousin of death_ lyrics are, of course, from "N.Y. State of Mind" by Nas.
> 
>  _Moonchild_ is the name of a Cibo Matto song.


End file.
